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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25918537">Celestial Bodies</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADeedWithoutaName/pseuds/ADeedWithoutaName'>ADeedWithoutaName</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Feeding, M/M, Stuffing, Weight Gain, Wincest - Freeform, Wincestiel - Freeform, bad end?, dubcon, fat!Dean, fat!Sam, god!castiel - Freeform, mild body horror, s7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:27:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,251</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25918537</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADeedWithoutaName/pseuds/ADeedWithoutaName</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel has taken on the role his Father abandoned. His only desires are peace, happiness, safety - especially for those he cares for, namely Sam and Dean Winchester. As they are less than cooperative, the only way forward seems to be to cultivate them into an obedient, well-fed mated pair.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester/Castiel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>141</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's difficult, being God.</p>
<p></p><div class="xcontrast">
<p></p><div>
<p></p><div><p>Of course Castiel doesn't regret taking up the mantle. He hadn't exactly had much choice, with his ascendance; it had only made sense, the position at the head of all things calling to him much as his place among the Host once had. He'd known it would be hard when he first entered Heaven with the intention of doing what was needed. He'd known it would be the hardest thing he had ever done. He'd known it would likely never get any easier, especially not if he wanted to be a better god (kinder, eventually, clearer, more attentive and vocal) than his Father had ever been.</p><p>He hadn't known it would be like this.</p><p>He'd been present for the early days of Earth and then humanity, had been familiar with that level of what his Father had faced. But only the archangels, all four now either dead or Caged, had seen the Beginning, the raw-edged self-sacrifice of the struggle it took to birth a universe. Though Castiel is starting to suspect it would have been easier to create a new world than to reform an existing one that has been firmly establishing itself for thousands of years.</p><p>It's difficult. He needs a break.</p><p>Having left the throne room behind some time ago, Castiel weaves through the brightly-lit, featureless white hallways of his new domain until he comes to a door. It's identical to the hundreds of others he's passed, save for the black handprint he's burnt personally into it. A former sister stands guard outside, a screen in her hands to observe the interior, and she inclines her head and spreads her wings when he approaches.</p><p>"How are they doing?" Castiel asks.</p><p>"Well," she replies, head still down. "They ate. The older one especially. It was ingenious, my Lord, to leave them without - "</p><p>Castiel raises a hand at the fawning, desperate tone beginning to creep into her voice, cutting her off. She falters a little, and he wishes he knew how to assure her she's proven herself, he knows she's loyal. That she has nothing at all to fear from him and never has.</p><p>But he's seared the outlines of too many wings into the fabric of Heaven, and he's finding it harder to relate to his former siblings by the day.</p><p>So all Castiel tells her is "Thank you," and then he's opening the door with a jerk of his head and stepping inside.</p><p>The room is dark, filled with the soft sound of rain. He knows many humans find it soothing, that it can induce a cocoon-like feeling of safety. There isn't much furniture in here yet, on the carpet so soft it swallows his footsteps whole. Two immensely-fluffy beds, piled so high with pillows and duvets they resemble nests, stand within feet of each other, and they are the only things here.</p><p>Castiel tried to give the Winchesters a single bed, but one had laid on top of it and the other had stretched out on the floor. They aren't quite ready for that yet. A distinction Castiel finds ridiculous, considering each one is now sleeping on the closest edge to the other. They could take each other's hands without even straining if they wanted.</p><p>Castiel stands between them, wings arching over them, and looks from one to the other. Dean is in the bed closest to the door, but he always is. Even back when the two of them were wild and feral, or at least more so than they are right now. A protective instinct Castiel now understands well.</p><p>He reaches down, runs a tender hand through hair the color of the honey that pools at the bottom of an old hive. Dean is fast asleep, an overload of calories and exhaustion keeping him deaf to the rustling of Castiel's feathers and clothing, but he pushes up into the touch with a low groan of simple pleasure. Then he wakes.</p><p>Sleep is instantly shed as he jerks himself up and scrambles laboriously away from Castiel, soft things piling up in drifts around him. Castiel can hear his heart hammering in fear, can taste the acid tang of adrenaline rising in the air, and can tell Dean is forcing his body to move faster than it should right now when he belches. Castiel turns to see Sam stirring at the sounds of his brother's distress, automatically groping under first one pillow for a weapon, then the others, waking further and becoming panicked when he can't find one.</p><p>Castiel brings the lights up. Slowly, so as not to hurt their eyes. Realizing that, awake, they resent the fact he's between them, he takes a step back. Their eyes are on him. They recognize him. He can feel their hate and heartbreak and fear, and his wings tremble slightly. He wants to heal all that pain for them. He wants to make it go away.</p><p>Maybe it was a bad idea, coming here when he was already in a bad place… But Castiel banishes that thought. He needs to put in the hard work for them before he can reap the rewards. And this is still better than what he was doing back in Heaven's throne room.</p><p>Sam and Dean are looking at his wings. Castiel realizes they won't have ever seen anything but the shadows of them, and spreads them a little further so they can get a better view. He has more sets coming in, just recently. Part of him wishes he would have waited until they'd matured enough to be impressive before he came to see the Wincesters.</p><p>It isn't as if he could have stayed away from them for much longer, though.</p><p>"I'm sorry," Castiel apologizes, "I didn't mean to wake you."</p><p>"Yeah, well, maybe you should've thought of that before you came in here and groped me," Dean snaps back.</p><p>Castiel summons a chair, takes a seat because he feels it might be less threatening, even though they're both taller than he is and things like that matter to humans. Folding his wings in close, he mildly advises, "You should calm down. You've been through a lot, and you need to try and recover."</p><p>"Yeah, no shit," Dean bites out.</p><p>Sam's a little more controlled, but not by much. "You sent a flock of angels down to beat the crap out of us."</p><p>"Then you threw us in a dungeon and starved us for a week," Dean added. "Didn't even know Heaven had a dungeon."</p><p>Castiel shrugs helplessly. "I healed you...and you were being uncooperative."</p><p>"Can't imagine why," Dean mutters then, suddenly, seems to realize that they're no longer in the clothes they were wearing an hour ago. He grabs at the silk pajamas Castiel's provided them with, hand skating across his belly, and Castiel realizes he's still visibly bloated from the meal they were given.</p><p>Many of the tiny, twisted souls netted in Castiel's Grace, serving him as they are slowly absorbed, croon in excitement at that. Castiel smiles.</p><p>"Did you strip us?" Dean demands incredulously.</p><p>Castiel shakes his head, lifts a hand, and Sam and Dean are instantly clothed in their usual breed of attire. He can tell by the expression that flickers across Dean's face that the belt is uncomfortable, or perhaps the jeans, and that irritates Castiel. He doesn't want to hurt them.</p><p>"Can we talk?" Sam is the next to speak, voice measured and cautious. Castiel looks at him. He didn't eat nearly as much of the feast of burgers and fries and beer and pastries Castiel laid out in front of them as his brother; even with blankets piled in his lap, Castiel can tell his stomach isn't bowed out and engorged.</p><p>"About what?"</p><p>"E-everything." Sam spreads his hands. "Purgatory. The monster souls, the - "</p><p>Castiel cuts in.</p><p>"<em>My </em>souls," he corrects gently. "They're mine now. They're me."</p><p>There's an awkward pause before Sam tries to continue. "Uh - "</p><p>This time, it's Dean who cuts him off. "How 'bout we talk about all the people you eighty-sixed, Cas." He's glaring. "Y'know, like Balthazar."</p><p>Castiel's feathers flare.</p><p>"Or the war you got going on with Hell," Dean goes on. "You got any idea what that's doing to Earth?"</p><p>"We just wanna help you," Sam is quick to add, and Castiel can feel his concern, genuine and so deep it must hurt him. "We know this isn't you."</p><p>"You want to help me," Castiel repeats, and smiles a little. "Then why have you been researching ways to kill me?"</p><p>Another uncomfortable silence. Castiel rises from his chair and approaches them again, and his Grace flares inside him as he keeps them from moving. The bonds are more of velvet than iron, nothing too strong. But they're full, and tired. He doesn't want them straining themselves any more than they have already.</p><p>It isn't because they mentioned Balthazar.</p><p>"I understand you're afraid," Castiel murmurs. He looks at Dean, then at Sam. "Change is always difficult, and this transition won't be easy. But you'll see it was worth it. In the long run."</p><p>He knows Sam enjoys having his hair touched. He strokes it, but it seems to only elicit fear and disgust from him, even the concern gone. Castiel sighs, drops his hand.</p><p>"It will all be so much better when this is all over," Castiel tells the Winchesters earnestly.</p><p>He looks at Dean just in time to see his jaw clench, then continues.</p><p>"Many of my Host have advised me to exterminate the two of you, all the way down to the soul and beyond. They think you're too dangerous." The very thought crisps painfully inside Castiel's Grace, like dry ice against human skin. "But I can't bring myself to do that. Not after we've shared so much together, and not when I feel so strongly towards you. As I know you do towards me. You just need to be...redirected." He takes the very point of Dean's chin between his fingertips, tilting his face up to smile softly down at him. "Corrected. Things will be different once you understand, once you see the end result. Even my most stubborn angels will agree that this is a better solution."</p><p>"Let us go. Please." Sam has managed to speak somehow. Then again, the infernal taint in his veins has always made him less susceptible to magic than his fully-human brother, and it's not as if he can move much more than his mouth. "We - we won't have anything to do with you, I promise. We won't get in your way."</p><p>Castiel looks at him over one wing, and smiles lovingly. "We all know that isn't true, don't we? And even if it were. If I put you back on Earth, how could I trust you would stay safe? I can protect you here. And the truth is, I need you." He squeezes Dean's chin, rough with stubble and trembling with reach, before letting go of him and taking a step back. "We need each other."</p><p>The hate in Dean's eyes practically crystalizes on Castiel's feathers, but it does not hurt him. He knows it is born of love, and so freshly turned it can be made back into what it once was with almost no effort.</p><p>"Sleep," Castiel instructs even as he shuts them off with a gentle touch, and they fall back into the beds. He once again swaps out their clothing for pajamas, since that seems more comfortable than sleeping in denim, and arranges the bedding around them. "There will be breakfast when you wake."</p>
<hr/><p>Dean has begun to put on weight.</p><p>Castiel has decided to take a quiet moment with him, one of the few he's got to spare these days. He's winding slowly down in the aftermath of a battle, the many fanged and clawed souls honeycombed inside him throbbing at the temples of the vessel he has to wear even in Heaven. He's consumed many of them, but there are millions. It's an ongoing process.</p><p>His back aches where additional sets of wings are slowly growing. His hips. Grace leaks from slowly-closing wounds. He keeps finding himself grimacing, but all the hurts seem to fade into the background as he focuses on Dean.</p><p>He's asleep, of course, and there's a gentle thread of Grace wrapped around his hypothalamus to keep him that way. There's no way Castiel would be able to do this otherwise.</p><p>He knows his angels wonder why he doesn't just send the Winchesters to Naomi. Or even do it himself: break them open and rearrange things until their emotions and memories and loyalties and behaviors all sit in the neat little rows he wants them to. He doesn't know how to explain to his children why he won't do that, can't, doesn't want to. Sam and Dean would understand, if he could just get it out in such a way it would make sense to them. Father (<em>Castiel) </em>knows he's tried.</p><p>Castiel has sat himself and Dean down in a nest-shaped chair, one hanging from the ceiling on strong ropes and filled with pillows. His head lays against the back of the chair as they slowly swing, propelled by his will, and his wings are spread out around them. Dean's head rests on a cushion to one side of Castiel and his legs splay out to the other. His middle sits in Castiel's lap, so that Castiel's hands have easy access to his stomach.</p><p>He watches Dean's face as he rubs lazily and slowly over his belly. The freckles, the long golden eyelashes, the full, perfect mouth, slightly open. The seams and wrinkles that age and stress have carved into his perfect visage, the scars…he knows this face so well he likely could paint it from memory with every single one of his eyes closed, after all the time he's spent staring at Dean and Sam both. They were the very first things he wanted, when he realized he could want things. He sometimes believes they brought the ability out in him.</p><p>Castiel can tell Dean's enjoying the way he's touching him, even in his sleep. He reads the tiny movements of his face (a twitch of the brow, a curve of the lips) and the feelings rolling off him like lazy, pastel dreams. And why shouldn't he enjoy a gentle, loving massage of his stomach when it's so full and working so hard?</p><p>"You overate," Castiel tells Dean softly. "Again. But I know you can't help yourself; I've been overfeeding you two."</p><p>He smirks. He knows how much humans eat, and he and those he's appointed as their caretakers have been providing Sam and Dean with far more than that. It greatly pleases many of the souls inside him that remain discrete, namely those that fed on the overweight and the slow in life, those who ate human fat specifically, those who overfed their human prey themselves for various reasons.</p><p>Castiel doubts it's their influence driving him. It was his time on Earth that tied together comfort and domesticity and extra weight and food in his mind. Sam and Dean have always been so lean, hewn from dark rock hard as diamond, all their sharpest edges left intact and only growing more acute. Under Castiel's care, that will change. It will be a mark of his love and devotion.</p><p>Castiel's hand trails down the side of Dean's stomach, where a soft pad has begun to visibly blossom over his hip. Castiel knows from experience it's colloquially known as a love handle, a name he finds delightful. He presses on it experimentally, to see how deep the plushness goes, and Dean lets out a long sigh.</p><p>Castiel has watched Sam and Dean, both on a screen and standing mere wingspans from them, invisible to their eyes and undetectable. He's given them lavish chambers filled with the softest, most comfortable furniture. They still have two beds, haven't yet transitioned to using one. They have clothing that fits perfectly, a bathroom Sam has hyperbolically estimated to be around the size of a football field, and a yard where they can bask in drenching sunshine or recline on grass like velvet. He's given them entertainment, too. Here in Heaven, they have access to every movie and television show and video game and book ever created, with the careful and thorough exception of anything concerning magic or angels or current events on Earth.</p><p>Castiel is lenient, he is indulgent. He is a benevolent god, especially when it comes to Sam and Dean. But he isn't stupid.</p><p>He hasn't provided any exercise equipment, either. Sam professed to enjoy running in the past, Dean training, but Castiel could feel the dread all those mornings they dragged themselves early out of bed, especially when their bodies were battered and aching for more rest, or an incident that sparked grief was still fresh in their minds. He never thought the pleasure they took from endorphins and lactic acid was enough of a compensation.</p><p>They've kept active anyway. Situps and pushups, stretches, sparring, all manner of improvised strength training. Though as the weeks have passed, Castiel has noticed that while Sam has kept up a near-religious schedule, Dean has started to lag. If they've noticed, neither of them have commented on it yet.</p><p>They get three meals a day. Multiple options, all their favorites. They have a fully-stocked kitchen, cabinets, refrigerator, and pantry. Both of them seem to enjoy that, Dean a little more than Sam, and if they ever want anything but don't have it on hand or don't feel like making it, all they have to do is say it out loud and it will appear right in front of them. It didn't take them long to figure that out.</p><p>Sam brought the food up to Castiel, once. It was when he came in to check on him while Dean was showering. Sam jerked like someone had whipped him with a live wire when Castiel appeared, immediately angry and defensive, but also still trying so hard to be reasonable and win Castiel over. He was always a better hostage negotiator than Dean, even when the hostages were the two of them. Especially, really.</p><p>"If you're hellbent on keeping us here," Sam had said, "could you at least maybe put in a little food for me?"</p><p>Castiel had cocked his head, confused. Sam explained.</p><p>"Everything you've been giving us is stuff that, y'know, Dean likes, and I know you like him better and all - "</p><p>"I don't," Castiel replied, surprised and a little troubled. He'd known then he'd have to do more to demonstrate to Sam that that isn't the case and never was.</p><p>"Well, I-I'd really like...I don't know, some kale?" Sam continued, no acknowledgment. "Avocados, maybe some eggs whose yolks don't pretty much instantly break on contact...uh, lean chicken, vegetables. All of that. Just something green." He swallowed. "I'd appreciate it. I know you want to. To take care of us."</p><p>"But...you don't like those things," Castiel pointed out slowly.</p><p>"Uh, yeah, I do."</p><p>"I'm sensitive to your emotions, Sam," Castiel told him. "I was even back when I was just a seraph. I know you don't like them - you liked the way you felt about eating them, but you derived no pleasure from them. What I've been feeding you is the food you like."</p><p>Sam continued denying, Castiel continued providing evidence. Eventually, sensing Dean was about to get out of the shower and not in the mood to deal with both of them at once, Castiel left.</p><p>Dean isn't so hard to deal with right now, though. Castiel keeps studying his face, and wishes he could wake him up. That they could simply talk, and he could touch him, and they could enjoy each other's company without Dean growing angry and demanding freedom he doesn't really want and Castiel can't really give him. That things could be how they once were, but so much better.</p><p>Castiel wants so badly to feed Dean. To watch him take food directly from his fingers. It likely won't be for much, much longer, though.</p><p>One hand travels up, to Dean's face, and he slips a finger past those lips, pouting and delicate even in sleep. It's soft and warm in his mouth, so inviting Castiel thinks about putting other pieces of himself inside, but this is as much as he'll do while Dean is asleep. When Castiel feels his tongue move though, he has an idea.</p><p>He summons honey to his finger, thick and sweet, dripping from the second knuckle down and pooling in Dean's mouth. And to Castiel's delight, he begins to suck, drops rolling down his throat as he practically nurses in his sleep.</p><p>Of course that's when one of his angels appears, swooping in to land right in the center of the living room. Castiel's barely looked up before she's brusquely announcing, "My Lord Castiel. Prayers are piling up, and there are at least two thousand five hundred and seventy-one items that will likely need your immediate attention."</p><p>Castiel would worry about her waking Sam, napping on the vast couch, but of course his sleep is Grace-insured, too. Castiel sighs deeply and regretfully, looking down at Dean.</p><p>"I'll be there in a moment."</p><p>The angel vanishes, and Castiel gives Dean's belly one last good rub, drawing a sleepy belch out of him. As he pulls his finger from his mouth, honey slicking off against his lips, he notices that the soft, broken-in jeans he gave Dean have grown just a little tight. He needs a new wardrobe.</p><p>Castiel gives it to him with a snap of his fingers, then leaves him dozing in the chair as he takes off.</p>
<hr/><p>Castiel has fallen into the habit of watching his Winchesters during mealtimes, when he has the chance. He likes to see them eating. Talking. Other than when they're asleep, this is the best time to see them at peace and as close to happy as he thinks they can get right now, in these early days when it's still so difficult for them to relax and they still believe it's a bad thing, them being here.</p><p>Eventually, they'll figure out how much he loves them. How much they love him. That they don't need to escape. For now, he erases himself from every spectrum of light Sam and Dean could see, then goes to their chambers.</p><p>Dinner tonight is steak and lobster, all the sides and perfectly-paired beer. The kind of spread you'd get in a real steakhouse, Dean gleefully exclaims when it shows up. As Sam struggles to look unimpressed, Dean rolls his eyes and folds his arms on the table.</p><p>"Can't even let yourself enjoy this part of it?" he asks, arching an eyebrow.</p><p>Several months earlier, Castiel saw a similar request result in an argument. However, nerves must not be as raw tonight, because Sam sighs heavily, lifts his pilsner glass with a smile, and chimes it against Dean's before digging in.</p><p>Castiel watches them migrate to the couch for TV and dessert. More beer, of course, and pie. Sam mumbles something about liver damage, Dean asks if he thought something like that could even happen to them here, and that seems to get Sam thinking. They spend almost an hour on a mostly-drunk conversation about whether or not they're dead.</p><p>They're not. It's insulting to think that that would be the only way Castiel could get them into Heaven.</p><p>Then, they retire to bed. Despite their reaction to the single mattress Castiel gave them at first, they haven't said a word about wanting separate rooms. He watches them laying in the darkness, Sam in boxers and a T-shirt, Dean wearing nothing but the silk pajama pants Castiel provided. They talk, surprisingly sober for their blood alcohol levels.</p><p>"So dinner was awesome," Dean purrs. His belly's almost perfectly round where it balloons out of the love handles puddling over his waistband, the smooth, freckled skin in serious danger of becoming taut and straining. He doesn't seem at all bothered by the sensation. In fact, Castiel wonders if he likes it.</p><p>"Uh huh." Sam stifles a belch with one hand. He's looking quite well-fed himself, T-shirt skin-tight over his stomach, navel a flat and hollow space beneath. Castiel can hear the noises he makes as he digests masses of rich food and beer. A burp threatens behind every word as he speaks. "Always is." A beat of silence, then he asks, "You try the creamed spinach?"</p><p>"That what that green stuff was?" At Sam's assent, Dean grunts. "Hnh. Only way I'll ever eat spinach." Fillings wink from the back of his mouth as he yawns. "Cas outdid himself."</p><p>The silence has become awkward. Is it like this every time Castiel's name is mentioned?</p><p>"When's the last time you talked to him?" Sam asks quietly.</p><p>"Same as you, probably. Week ago. Ten days." Dean considers. "No, wait...came by while you were taking a nap. Kept trying to touch me."</p><p>"What the hell's happening to him?"</p><p>"You mean how he's acting? Or how he looks?"</p><p>"Both, but I guess mostly his looks. How many wings he got now? Like, six?"</p><p>"I don't know."</p><p>"What're those...sparkly-ass feathers in with the black ones?"</p><p>"They're not feathers, they're wings. Insect wings. Gossamer, like a bee."</p><p>"...that's fucking weird, man."</p><p>Neither of them say anything for a moment after that. Castiel is pleased they've noticed the transformation accompanying his steady rise into godhood...but put out by how they obviously feel about it.</p><p>"What d'you think's happening on Earth?" Dean asks eventually.</p><p>"No idea."</p><p>"Nothing's slipping through his net, huh?"</p><p>"Dean, I've tried everything. Every loophole I can think of. I've even asked for stuff that recently came out, but there's nothing about current events in it. It's all been...I don't know, whitewashed, and in a way I can't even tell what he did."</p><p>Dean snorts. "Oh, <em>now </em>he gets pop culture."</p><p>They are quiet for long enough that Castiel might think they'd fallen asleep, if the rhythms of their brains weren't still so very much awake. Then Sam asks, so softly Castiel doubts Dean will hear it, "You thought about what we're gonna do if we can't...i-if we can't get outta here?"</p><p>Dean does hear it, though. He pushes himself up on his elbows with a belch and a hand on his gut, and demands incredulously, "What the hell're you talking about?" He goes on when Sam doesn't immediately answer. "Course we're gonna get outta here."</p><p>But even Castiel, whose social skills didn't improve with his apotheosis, knows he hesitated just a moment too long before responding to Sam's question.</p><p>"Yeah," Sam agrees. "Sure. But what if we don't?"</p><p>"We will. We always do."</p><p>"We've kinda been at it a while, though," Sam points out, expression cringing and apologetic in the dark, like he's wounding himself as he does his brother. "And we don't have any leads. So I've been thinking about what would happen if we didn't get out, and...Dean, would it - would it be so bad?"</p><p>"Seriously?" Dean demands. "You saw what he did to Balthazar." Castiel stiffens. "And that was somebody he <em>liked</em>."</p><p>"He hasn't tried to hurt us," Sam says softly.</p><p>"We're getting out," Dean replies after a moment. "You know we are."</p><p>"You're eating like we aren't." A sulky little-brother note's crept into Sam's voice.</p><p>Dean puts a hand on his belly and rolls over, back to Sam. Flatly, he tells him, "Go to sleep, Sam. You're drunk."</p><p>Sam says nothing else, and before too long, they're both asleep. Castiel makes sure they stay that way as he walks between them, stroking hair and bellies, soothing incoming nightmares. He kisses Dean's temple.</p><p>"It wouldn't be bad at all," Castiel murmurs to both of them. "It would be wonderful. Everything we all deserve."</p>
<hr/><p>Sam's weight gain has, for some time now, been so slight as to be mostly inconsequential. A pound here, one there. Fluctuations, peaks and valleys, a centimeter at a time.</p><p>Now, it's finally begun to catch up to him.</p><p>There's a certain roundness to his cheekbones, and he has a belly that would puff softly over his belt if it were ever empty. His thighs have thickened, hips have spread. Biceps and pectorals are just barely obscured, edges and ridges ill-defined. It happened quickly. Snuck up on him. And it was easy as Castiel figuring out he has a sweet tooth.</p><p>Sam likes all the things Dean does: cheeseburgers, beer, chili fries, beef jerky, pizza dripping with grease. But the things he loves, the things he turns to on instinct when he needs to fill a hole inside him that has nothing to do with hunger, are laced with shocking amounts of sugar. Castiel can't be sure, but looking down into the fractal facets of his soul, he feels like this has its roots all the way back in Sam's childhood.</p><p>Sam enjoys Twinkies. Hershey's kisses. Whipped cream out of an aerosolized can, the sort of pie and pressed cookies that factory bakeries churn out on a daily basis...he'll even eat maraschino cherries straight out of a jar if there's nothing else. But his tastes run richer, too. Hand-churned Tahitian vanilla soft serve. Dark chocolate and cayenne pepper layer cake. Bananas Foster in top-shelf rum.</p><p>Castiel's deepest desire is to spoil him. Sam makes that easy.</p><p>His Winchesters both seem to eat the most when they're stressed. Castiel isn't sure why, because nothing has changed and he's done his best to remove all sources of danger and despair, but Sam must have been quite stressed today. To eat as much as he has.</p><p>He's been gorging for hours on the sweet things Castiel laid out for him, delicacies and mundane sweets alike, and now he's found himself practically beached on the couch. There are stray smears of chocolate around his mouth, and on his stomach where he's touched it in feeble attempts to soothe himself. He's so obviously uncomfortable, wincing, belching, struggling, unable to move. Apparently, he was unaware of what he was doing to himself until he finished, or at least got to the point he could no longer continue.</p><p>Castiel sees Sam, from where he is in the throne room. He's fed himself into all the channels of Heaven that used to be his Father's, able to observe and know all. He sees how Sam glances towards the bedroom, where Dean retired to blissful sleep several hours before. But Sam doesn't call out for his brother, clearly in need of help but embarrassed.</p><p>Castiel quite literally has a million things to do. But he can't leave one of them like this.</p><p>Sam is so sodden with sugar he doesn't even notice Castiel until he's practically on top of him. He starts, then winces when that jostles his overfilled stomach. His arms fold protectively around it, almost like he's pregnant.</p><p>There's something so pathetically lovable about it. Castiel feels his coverts lifting.</p><p>"What're you doing here?" Sam pants out.</p><p>Castiel cocks his head. "I've come to help you."</p><p>"I'm fine." Sam grits his teeth. "Appreciate it, but - " A burp. "I've seen the kinda help you've got on offer lately, so. I'm fine."</p><p>Castiel is surprised by the bitter, acid edge to the words. Gluttony seems to have removed Sam's diplomatic filter. He perches on the back of the couch and looks down at Sam, wings spreading over the two of them in a canopy of gossamer and sable.</p><p>"Do you think I would hurt you?" Castiel asks. When Sam just swallows, he frowns. "Have I ever hurt you?"</p><p>"You brought me here," Sam points out with a jerky shrug.</p><p>"Do you think that was to hurt you?"</p><p>Sam is silent. Castiel leans down towards him, very slowly, as a human might approach a feral animal. As tame as Sam is becoming, and Dean too, he needs to keep in mind how wild they've been for most of their lives. How used to fighting they've had to become.</p><p>Castiel reaches down. He lays a hand gently on Sam's stomach, which can't even hope to be covered by his sweatpants or shirt. Castiel wonders if he should bump Sam's clothing up a few sizes, but then decides against it for now. He rather likes the way he looks with a well-fed belly hanging out of his clothes.</p><p>He can feel Sam's fear and his anger, but also how the physical weight of his overstuffed stomach is keeping him in place, making him sleepy, complacent. Castiel is fully aware he would never have gotten this close to him if he weren't so full. There's a reason that, back on Earth, most hunters don't go after their quarry right after a large meal. Not even Dean, whom Castiel will ensure remains asleep during whatever is about to happen.</p><p>Vast things older than Castiel himself, made of teeth and hunger and a wicked, unfortunate intellect, delight where they still drift distinct in the hybrid ocean of his Grace. They are thrilled by how vulnerable his prey has made itself. They refuse to listen when he tries to explain Sam isn't prey, so he ignores them.</p><p>Castiel sinks as the couch changes around Sam. It becomes a spread of cushions with no back or arms, Sam propped up against a pile of pillows. Sam tenses, but Castiel soothes him, now sitting much closer to him.</p><p>"It will make things easier," Castiel explains.</p><p>He begins to rub at Sam's belly in slow, careful motions. He finds cramps and bubbles of gas, easily released with pressure. Sam is firm, but so easily kneaded, and gurgling that was angry becomes satisfied under Castiel's hands. Slowly, slowly, Sam relaxes as he works, lids lowering slightly, muscles unknotting, head falling back. Castiel notes how long his hair has grown.</p><p>"I haven't seen you exercising nearly as much in the past weeks," Castiel murmurs. "Months, even."</p><p>"Don't know why I'm surprised you watch us," Sam mumbles back, then belches.</p><p>Castiel doesn't reply. When he does speak again, it's to fondly comment, "You've eaten so much, Sam."</p><p>"Won't happen again."</p><p>Castiel disagrees. "I wouldn't provide you two with so much food if I didn't expect you to eat it. If I didn't want you to." Sitting beside Sam, he cups his belly, a hand on either side. "When this happens again, I'll return to take care of you."</p><p>Castiel must be doing a good job of rubbing, because Sam doesn't try and argue with that.</p><p>"You're getting bigger," Castiel goes on. "Both of you are. I must be feeding you well." When Sam doesn't answer, Castiel asks, "What's wrong?"</p><p>"Been slacking off lately," Sam mumbles. "Can't do that, gotta stay in shape."</p><p>"Why?" Castiel brings his wings down, curving protectively around Sam. "It's not like you have to hunt."</p><p>That reminder stirs something almost like anger in Sam, but it quickly goes out. "Don't wanna get fat."</p><p>"Why?" Castiel repeats, and once again, Sam doesn't answer. Castiel is endlessly, constantly frustrated by the games humans play. It seems especially petty to him considering he can feel what they feel, but he doesn't push.</p><p>Speaking of feeling, Sam is embarrassed. He regrets what he's done, yes...but at the same time, he's enjoying it. There's a sleepy contentment, a sheer placid joy at being full, overly so. Like his sweet tooth, it stems from his childhood. From too many times with not enough food. It's very weak in Sam, barely present at all, where Castiel's felt it stronger than a bee's stinger in Dean. It makes him want to find John Winchester, happily ensconced in his separate compartment of Heaven, and cast him out.</p><p>But if he does that at all, it will have to wait. Because Castiel can also feel Sam's arousal, and how he's barely noticed it himself. Castiel imagines it would confuse him if it did. To him, it makes perfect sense.</p><p>Castiel moves closer, knees on cushions and feathers rustling, breathing in the scent of Sam. Sweet and human and oh so beloved. One hand stays on Sam's stomach, and the other dips down, below the waistband of his pants. Inside them. His fingers have hardly touched dark, wiry hair before Sam's hand, so much larger than that of Castiel's vessel, locks around his wrist even as Sam blurts, "No."</p><p>Castiel looks at him. He can see in his eyes that he's afraid Castiel won't stop. Sam knows he won't be able to stop him, if he keeps going.</p><p>Castiel pulls back.</p><p>"It's all right," he tells Sam softly.</p><p>Sam lets go, but he doesn't relax at all. Castiel wants so badly to stroke his hair, nuzzle him, wrap his wings around him...but he's afraid of frightening him again. He's still so tense, despite all Castiel's ministrations and demonstrations, and was even before Castiel tried to act on Sam's arousal. Castiel knows he'd relax if he were fuller.</p><p>Sam's stomach begins to swell under Castiel's hands as he massages.</p><p>It takes Sam a while to notice what's happening to him, much as it took him to notice Castiel's presence at all earlier. In the interim, his eyelids sink lower and his muscles get looser, and a low noise of pleasure Castiel doesn't believe he intended to make rolls out of him. Almost lazily, he raises his head, and then he sees his belly.</p><p>He doesn't process it right away. When he does, his eyes widen and, sounding more afraid than angry, he belches loudly, then demands, "What the hell're you doing?"</p><p>His hands move as if to pull him away from Castiel, but they both know that if he isn't too heavy yet, he will be in a moment.</p><p>"It's just cream," Castiel tells him gently.</p><p>"Y - you're pumping whole cream into me?"</p><p>"It won't hurt." Castiel risks stroking Sam's hair with an alula that, these days, looks more like a hand. "I won't let it hurt."</p><p>Sam's breath comes harshly. He keeps growing, gut wobbling steadily outwards under Castiel's attentive hands. It's so soft, so fluid. It makes tiny gurgles and sloshes, and Sam begins breathing easier the larger he gets. When he burps, even that sounds less strained.</p><p>"This is good for you," Castiel assures Sam. He lets his head dip, and when Sam swells up against his mouth, he can't possibly begrudge Castiel a kiss. "I know you would have done it yourself, if you could have."</p><p>Castiel tends Sam carefully. Much stroking and rubbing and kissing. He doesn't let the skin grow tight, doesn't let cramps take root, makes sure that Sam enjoys this to its fullest. Sam's belly becomes enormous, eventually more cream than solid food. It would be agonizing, on a normal human. Actually, a normal human Sam's size never would have even reached this point, because they would have burst. But Castiel ensures there is no discomfort at all.</p><p>When he finally sees fit to stop, Sam has become so sleepy and full that Castiel can quite literally do whatever he wants with him. He thinks again of putting a hand between his legs, finding the lazy, dripping hardness he knows is waiting there, but instead, he just pulls Sam into his lap and folds his wings in around him. He nuzzles at his hair, and Sam smells like cake.</p><p>Drowsily, Sam strokes at one of Castiel's smaller, newer wings, like he's just looking for something to hold. He fingers the primaries, and every single one of Castiel's feathers puff as his Grace flares. He has to shut his eyes, every single one of them, for a moment in order to center himself and avoid doing something he already knows he would regret.</p><p>When he opens them again, Sam is grinning up at him, wide and adoring. Castiel has never seen him drunk, but he imagines that being this full is a comparable state. He even slurs a little when he talks.</p><p>"You were right, Cas." Sam says his name so fondly. "This's nice...it feels good." A little hiccup. "Like to do it more often."</p><p>Castiel has to close his eyes again.</p></div></div></div>
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<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
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      <p>When one of his children calls, Castiel is directly in the middle of something rather important. A smiting, in fact.</p>
      <p>He must be so much busier than his Father ever was, he's sure of it. Personally dealing with the blasphemous and unfaithful? Answering genuine prayers? Striking down the wicked and demonic? He's convinced the last God stopped personally handling most of those things when the amount of living humans could still be counted on one of their hands.</p>
      <p>He's irritated, but the angel says the matter is urgent, so he returns.</p>
      <p>The angel (Samandriel) is sitting in the Panopticon. Castiel imagines Sam and Dean would refer to it as a security office, with screens covering the entirety of the spherical interior. Samandriel detaches one, hands it to Castiel.</p>
      <p>"You'll want to see this," he says, so Castiel watches.</p>
      <p>It's his pets, onscreen. He knows most of his children do not understand his obsession or attachment to the Winchesters, and those few who can identify don't understand why he's coddling them so. But all of those who remain are by now loyal enough not to question him, and to identify when there's something happening he'll want to be informed of. This definitely qualifies.</p>
      <p>Sam and Dean are sitting on a bed together, the one Sam claimed as his own months and months ago. They're both engorged, looking plump and soft with clothes that have grown too small cutting into the swells and curves of their bodies, staring at each other in apparent shock. They're breathing hard. Castiel's omniscient connection to Heaven reasserted itself as soon as he returned (he doesn't even really need the screen), so he can feel their elevated heart rates and adrenaline levels. Their arousal. How they are full but not painfully, debilitatingly so.</p>
      <p>What he doesn't know, however, is what exactly caused Samandriel to call him back here, so he looks at him, beginning, "What are - "</p>
      <p>"I can play it back if need be, but watch." Samandriel points at the screen with several hands. "Perhaps they'll do it again."</p>
      <p>Castiel frowns. But he knows he wouldn't have been cut off if Samandriel hadn't seen something to excite him. So he goes back to watching.</p>
      <p>On the screen, Sam and Dean almost impulsively lean towards each other, shyly at first, uncertainly, both of them moving at once as if drawn by a sudden magnetism. Then it is fast, so that when they meet in a kiss, it's nearly crushing. Their hands are on each other, a desperation evident, like a dam that has been cracking for years and has finally burst wide open in a bloom of white water and furious power, and Dean slides a hand up into Sam's hair, and Sam gasps into his mouth.</p>
      <p>This is the second time they've done this, Castiel realizes. The better time.</p>
      <p>"Are they intoxicated?" he asks Samandriel.</p>
      <p>"No more than usual."</p>
      <p>He barely has the last half of the word out (because the phrase is one word in the efficiency of Enochian) before Castiel is gone.</p>
      <p>He reappears in Sam and Dean's bedroom. Invisible, of course. He stands there, wings spread as if in a protective screen, and his eyes are fixed on them as they touch. The feelings coming off them are a jumbled riot, paint hurled at a white wall. He can't even begin to parse all of them, but he knows at the very least that they want each other. He can feel it with every sense he has, all twenty-three.</p>
      <p>Dean takes the lead, years of being the older, stronger, more protective sibling emerging as dominance. He roughly, almost impatiently pushes Sam down on the soft mattress, and then he is on all fours above him. His gut hangs down, resting against Sam's. Their bellies jiggle in rhythm as they kiss hungrily. Sam's hair is spread around his head in a fringed halo, and Dean supports his own weight with only one hand so he can tangle thick fingers in it.</p>
      <p>They gasp and growl as they grab at each other. Castiel watches as they shuck their clothes, each one helped by the other. Once they are naked, they kneel heaving on the bed, staring at each other as if they cannot believe what they've just done. As if they realize that they are at a second precipice, a steeper one, that they cannot return to if they should make that leap. Castiel senses how fragile the moment is, how this is the one that may amount to nothing at all. Any wrong move, by either of them, will derail the consummation for months. Maybe years</p>
      <p>If he had breath, he would hold it.</p>
      <p>When Dean begins to laugh, Castiel jolts, then shudders in misery and grief, because he's sure that he's ruined it. What Sam feels in response, though, is not what he would have expected.</p>
      <p>"You're getting kinda fat, Sammy." Dean reaches forward to cup Sam's love handles, firm and quick to jiggle, his belly.</p>
      <p>"You're getting more than kinda." Sam rolls his eyes, but Dean's laughter has worked like some sort of spell, centered them both and made the moment so much less terrifying.</p>
      <p>"Calm down, porky." Dean pulls Sam up. Sam lets him, closes his eyes in pleasure when Dean holds his ass with both hands, more than a handful. "You look good like this. I like it. Reminds me of when you were little."</p>
      <p>"'M about to fuck my brother," Sam mumbles. "Don't need things any weirder than they already are."</p>
      <p>And just like that, the line is crossed. Both Winchesters seem better for it.</p>
      <p>"Don't think it can get any weirder."</p>
      <p>There are nightstands beside each bed, well-stocked with snacks and books and other things Castiel saw fit to place there. Sam and Dean must both be familiar with the contents, because Dean draws a bottle of lube from a drawer. Sam sits back and looks up at him, and he looks very young to Castiel. Shorter than his brother, in this position, round-faced and bright-eyed in the dimness of their room.</p>
      <p>"How d'you wanna do this?"</p>
      <p>"Welp, doggy style's pretty much our only option here," Dean replies matter-of-factly. He gives Sam's belly a little nudge, makes it bounce. "Should've held off on that third helping of lasagna."</p>
      <p>"You didn't bother holding off on your fourth." Sam pats his brother's heftier gut. Smacks it, really, pinkening the pale skin. Dean likes it. Castiel can tell. "Or your fifth."</p>
      <p>They kiss, and then Sam begins the slow roll onto all fours, grunting. There's a brief discussion about whether or not he's "bottomed" before (he has, he's "good"), and if he wants Dean to wear a condom (Castiel's provided them, but Sam would rather Dean came inside, he wants to be filled), and then Dean begins to slick himself up.</p>
      <p>Castiel will make sure things go easily for them. He's aware of at least the mechanics of this type of mating between humans, and the possible pitfalls. There will be no pain or embarrassment tonight.</p>
      <p>He can't help sighing in satisfaction as he watches how gently Dean handles Sam, as something precious and beloved. Castiel is so pleased that this is finally happening. It will make everything so much easier from here on out...and he is so very pleased to be the proud owner of a mated pair.</p>
      <p>Soulmates, no less. Very rare. Or it would be, if anyone else were in the business of cultivating this type of collection.</p>
      <p>Dean eases himself into Sam. His belly comes to rest very naturally in the small of Sam's back, the dip there exaggerated by the weight of Sam's own stomach. He seats himself, and Sam's head drops, his shoulders bunch. All the muscles he's been neglecting for months suddenly stand out in stark relief beneath the layer of pudge Castiel's so carefully nurtured on him. It's only sensation, not pain, and thankfully, Dean seems to understand that. Because after a brief moment where the two of them catch their breath, he's fucking Sam with an unexpected ferocity.</p>
      <p>Two rotund bodies jiggle and the wet slap of flesh on flesh fills the room. Bellies bounce, and grunts and cries and growls pour out of both Winchesters, Dean's hands hanging tightly to the meat of Sam's hips. There's still a lot of power at Dean's core, enough to drive him into his brother with the force of a bullet firing from the chamber, and sweat beads immediately on both of them.</p>
      <p>Sam pushes up into Dean, round ass actively seeking his brother's cock as he fights back, panting, arms and thighs shaking, belly swaying beneath him. Not much, though, as it's packed nearly solid with food. Dean works to drive Sam back down. To keep him beneath him. Fireworks ignite in both of them, pleasure lighting up the darkness as they wring every drop of it from the act.</p>
      <p>The sex is as desperate and savage as the kissing was earlier. A dam breaking, something long overdue. A thunderstorm finally coming to fruition. Castiel feels as he imagines his Father felt, so long ago, watching that first star spin up out of the ocean of burning gas that was the beginning of all things.</p>
      <p>Watching Adam and Eve couple, in the garden He built for them, just as He had always intended for them to do.</p>
      <p>All told, the lovemaking only lasts a few minutes, but by the time a weary, spent Sam and Dean disentangle themselves and collapse onto damp bedding, they are soaked in sweat, dripping with it. Their breath saws in and out of their chests. Castiel cleans them with a thought, but they don't even seem to notice, lying beside each other for the next half hour, fingers almost casually tangled together.</p>
      <p>Dean is the first to speak. He rolls his head lazily to the side, and Castiel tenses. They are at another crucial point.</p>
      <p>"Y'hungry?" he rumbles.</p>
      <p>Sam looks at him, hitches one shoulder in an almost-shrug. "I could eat."</p>
      <p>They summon a pie and a tub of ice cream directly to them just by speaking the things out loud ("Never gonna get used to that, but...fuck, it's convenient"), and split both between the two of them, sitting naked across from each other. Castiel sits on the edge of the mattress with his wings arching over the two of them. He watches them fondly as they eat and smile at each other and don't talk, but of course they are completely unaware of him.</p>
      <p>They fall asleep together in the same bed they fucked in, stomachs as overloaded as always, every animal urge they might have completely sated. Castiel rearranges their bedroom while they sleep, so there's only one bed, large enough to contain them both. They don't even seem to notice when they wake.</p>
      <hr/>
      <p>Castiel is sitting on the counter when Dean comes into the kitchen, one morning several months after his and Sam's consummation.</p>
      <p>He's still sleepy, the hair he's allowed to grow long pressed flat on one side, scratching at the gut that hangs heavily over the waistband of his pajama pants and yawning. He freezes mid-yawn when he sees Castiel, wings comfortably spread and ankles crossed. Castiel smiles.</p>
      <p>"Good morning, Dean. I take it Sam's still asleep?"</p>
      <p>"What the hell're you doing here?" It's a growl, but Dean's time in Heaven - much closer to a year than not - has softened him quite a bit. He's not even looking for a weapon.</p>
      <p>"I just wanted to see you." Castiel shrugs. "It's been a while since you and I had any alone time."</p>
      <p>"Yeah, and I'm just fine with that." Dean's eyes flick to Castiel's left, where a large basket is sitting on the counter, contents covered by a checkered cloth. "What've you got there? Some kinda torture device? This the other shoe dropping?"</p>
      <p>Castiel pulls the cloth free, and steam rises into the air. A massive breakfast is nestled into the basket: fluffy scrambled eggs, bacon and sausage glistening with grease, hotcakes fanned out against the back, drifts of hashbrowns, flaky scones, turnovers oozing apple and cherry and chocolate filling. Dean fixates. Castiel sees him lick his lips.</p>
      <p>"You brought breakfast?" Dean asks, tearing his eyes back to Castiel. Castiel smiles again. "What've I gotta do?"</p>
      <p>Maybe Dean hasn't gone as soft as Castiel thought. Castiel summons a fork into his hand, reaches down and scoops up some scrambled egg. He offers it to Dean.</p>
      <p>"Why don't you come have a taste?"</p>
      <p>"You wanna feed it to me." Dean's voice is flat. "Course." He glances over his shoulder, like he's looking for Sam, but of course Sam is still dozing. He looks at Castiel again. "I'm not some kinda pet, Cas."</p>
      <p>"Of course not," Castiel agrees, even though he absolutely, definitely is.</p>
      <p>"I ain't a toy."</p>
      <p>"I could never think of you that way, Dean." And that, at least, is the truth.</p>
      <p>Dean is silent. He's staring at the food. Finally, he heaves a sigh and states, "You ain't gonna let me eat without you feeding me, are you?"</p>
      <p>Castiel shrugs apologetically.</p>
      <p>"Well...least it smells good." Grudgingly, Dean steps forward, and begins to let Castiel feed him.</p>
      <p>It goes well. Very well. Dean relaxes much more quickly than Castiel honestly expected him to, the food working wonders. He allows Castiel to keep feeding him, to touch his stomach. They move first to the table, and then the couch. Castiel practices the same magic on Dean that he did on Sam, when he gave him a belly rub. Swelling Dean enormous with a cream filling. Dean doesn't notice like Sam did, though. Maybe because he's eating.</p>
      <p>It turns out that the brothers are exactly the same once you get them full enough: docile, sleepy, and cuddly.</p>
      <hr/>
      <p>When Sam calls for him, praying for the first time in what feels like an eternity, it surprises Castiel so much that he doesn't answer right away.</p>
      <p>Once he realizes what he's hearing, he's there in a thousandth of a microsecond, and still overcome with guilt for how long it took him. He lands so hard dishes in the kitchen rattle, and he nearly stumbles. Thankfully, he doesn't even sway.</p>
      <p>"Sam." Castiel nods at him. "What do you need?"</p>
      <p>Sam is ensconced within the hanging chair, where Castiel held a sleeping Dean so very long ago. In sweatpants and a worn T-shirt bearing a band insignia, Sam is surrounded by pillows, reclining on one hip and propping himself up with an elbow. He has a stack of books at hand, and a handspun milkshake and platter of macarons within reach. One hand gently massages at the soft round mass of his belly, resting before him. He could not embody comfort any more perfectly if he tried.</p>
      <p>"I want something to eat," Sam begins. Castiel's eyes stray to the macarons, and he shakes his head. "No, something else."</p>
      <p>Something has changed in Sam's voice, over the past month or so. He sounds a bit younger, not exactly petulant but there's certainly something childish there. Castiel can so clearly imagine what he was like when he was very small. Or what he would have been like, had he grown up with everything he needed constantly available, no fear, only safety and love.</p>
      <p>He would say Sam sounds spoiled, but it isn't quite that bad. Yet.</p>
      <p>"You can summon it yourself," Castiel points out. Not angry, just stating a fact.</p>
      <p>"I don't know the name." Sam shakes his head. "Was kinda hoping you could help me."</p>
      <p>As always, Castiel is busy. But he stands there and patiently allows Sam to describe in minute detail something he once saw on a cooking show. The candied cherries, the heavy, rich cake, the chocolate shavings, the curls of handmade whipped cream. Castiel doesn't know the name, either, but he creates it for him easily enough, and Sam is delighted.</p>
      <p>Castiel makes to hand over the glass dish, but Sam doesn't take it. Instead, he looks from it to Castiel, and says, "Dean said you fed him breakfast. Once."</p>
      <p>Castiel cocks his head, then conjures a fork.</p>
      <p>Perhaps he was wrong about Sam not being spoiled.</p>
      <p>Not that he minds.</p>
      <hr/>
      <p>Castiel can't visit or observe the Winchesters every day, or every week, or sometimes even every month. He is constantly aware of them and what they're doing, but omniscience is a tricky thing, especially when your consciousness was never designed to handle it and your transformation is still happening in fits and starts. Some things naturally fade into the background.</p>
      <p>Therefore, when he does see them, Castiel finds himself shocked by how fat they've grown since last time. Their bellies are large and well-fed, never empty. Their faces are round and double-chinned, their thighs thick, their love handles forming stacks of doughy rolls. Dean appears larger, but Castiel believes that that's only because he's shorter and broader in the hips; Sam actually weighs more, even as they both creep up over three hundred and fifty pounds.</p>
      <p>Castiel wonders how much of their growth they're actually aware of. He's ensured they feel no pain and suffer no ill effects on their health, and their clothing and home change around them to accommodate their size. With a few exceptions...he likes their guts on display, hanging out of shirts and pants, a demonstration of just how well he's taking care of them. They do tease each other about how much weight they've put on, especially during sex. Which they have a lot of, apparently making up for lost time.</p>
      <p>When they call him to them this time, they're both rapidly approaching four hundred. Sam may have already edged past it, it's been some time since Castiel checked.</p>
      <p>By now, he's familiar with their prayers to him. He touches down gently, smiles at the two of them, and then asks, "What would you like?"</p>
      <p>They summon him to ask for food. That's always the case. He can immediately tell, though, that this time is different. They're sitting on the couch that continues to expand to accommodate the breadth of their hips, looking up at him. They glance at each other, then Sam takes a deep breath.</p>
      <p>"Cas...what's going on? Down on Earth, I mean."</p>
      <p>Castiel thought this stopped months ago. Regretfully, he shakes his head.</p>
      <p>"You know I can't tell you that." he says as gently as he can. "It would only bring you pain." He pauses. "But I can tell you it's going well."</p>
      <p>They look at him.</p>
      <p>Castiel is aware of his own appearance. The burns that once surrounded his eyes have spread in tight, geometric swirls all over his body. Spines have grown through his hair, along his neck. An uneven number of wings, some feathered, some leathery, some scaled, some insectine, erupt from his back and hips. A crop of extra eyes, all blue but none the same size, cluster on the right side of his face around the original. He has three different sets of fangs in his primary mouth, and half a dozen other maws have opened all over his body.</p>
      <p>Sam and Dean do not see any of that, though. Because Castiel has decided that here, he will look to them as he once did. Human but for his single set of black-dappled wings. Rumpled and tired. Still shaped in such a way he is capable of wearing a trench coat, and does.</p>
      <p>"How 'bout, y'know, everybody?" Dean asks. "Bobby. Jody. All of them."</p>
      <p>Castiel smiles. "I can promise that no harm has come to them."</p>
      <p>They believe him.</p>
      <p>"Then...wanna stick around?" Sam asks, a little uncertainly. "Maybe watch a movie or something?"</p>
      <p>That is how Castiel comes to spend the evening on the couch, a wing wrapped around Dean and Sam in his lap, feeding both of them popcorn and M&amp;Ms. They let him nuzzle them once they're full and sleepy enough, and he chirrs in delight, and this is the happiest he's been in a long, long time. Knowing it will only get better from here makes it that much sweeter.</p>
      <p>Even the monstrous souls inside Castiel are silent, for once. As if reluctant to disturb this most sacred of moments.</p>
      <hr/>
      <p>Castiel knows he is blessed. This is confirmed for him when Sam and Dean invite him to their bed barely a week after he spends an evening on the couch with them.</p>
      <p>They simply wish to talk, at first. Reminisce. Ask questions he mostly dances away from, not wanting to burden them with the pain of knowledge when they seem so happy here. Reclining on heaps of pillows, smiling at each other and at him, the Winchesters split a pizza. Several pizzas, and a downright shocking amount of cold beer. They frequently offer both to Castiel, but he declines, preferring instead just to watch them.</p>
      <p>It does not take much, for the situation to evolve.</p>
      <p>Dean is the first one to kiss Castiel. He isn't drunk, barely enough alcohol buzzing golden in his veins to leave him loose and playful, so Castiel has no worries it isn't his decision. He's moved casually closer to him, gesturing with a beer in hand as he told a joke that, as usual, Castiel did not get. Sam laughed though, so Castiel laughs too, and as soon as he finishes, Dean's mouth is on his own.</p>
      <p>The flavor of him is exquisite. Oh so human, but with something divine about it, something unmistakably Heavenly. There is no other way for Castiel to categorize it: Dean tastes as if he belongs to him.</p>
      <p>Shock, thankfully, does not keep Castiel from reacting before Dean can become insecure. He kisses him back, a wing folding in around him to pull him closer, hands tracing the pillowy shape of that lovely gut and all the fat that flows out from it. Dean purrs into the kiss and, when they have to break to allow him to breathe, he's flushed and grinning.</p>
      <p>"Oh, yeah," he rumbles. "Even better than I thought it'd be."</p>
      <p>Castiel does not reply, because he is already turning towards Sam, who is also leaning in towards him. Sam is much more hesitant than his brother. Castiel remembers him saying once that he knew Castiel liked Dean better. Perhaps it's still a fear of his.</p>
      <p>Castiel does his utmost to dispel that, meeting him with an open mouth and a hand beneath his chins to cup the much-softened shape of his jaw, primary feathers lancing across his back to draw him into the best possible position. Castiel kisses him with just as much passion as he did his older brother. His love for them both is equally infinite and unconditional, as the love of a god for his children, a master for his pets, should be.</p>
      <p>When Castiel is finished, Sam pulls back, and then he and Dean turn to each other, meeting in a mingling of soft plumpness, marshmallow shapes flattening against one another. Castiel's wings bristle, every feather on end.</p>
      <p>As badly as he's wanted both brothers for years, Castiel's desires were always abstract before. Carnal pleasures of the flesh remained outside of his understanding, no matter how many demonstrations he received from entertainment media or his vessel's memories. With a million mortal souls now sleeved inside his Grace, most swallowed up to become part of him in the most intimate possible way, his appetites have changed as much as the rest of him.</p>
      <p>He wants to suck their cocks, Sam and Dean. The delicate organs, larger than average, are hidden beneath the bellies that have grown so well under his care, but he can feel how erect and throbbing they are, and Castiel wants them. But his real mouth is full of fangs, his real throat spines. In the throes of pleasure, he does not trust himself not to lose control of this form he's so carefully holding.</p>
      <p>Instead, he kisses. He strokes and he touches and he takes firm hold, with wings and hands alike. Sam's cock is a thick and solid thing in Castiel's fist, his heartbeat thundering in it as Castiel pebbles a large, sensitive nipple between his teeth, and Dean shudders and leaks silvery precome onto the short feathers of Castiel's alula. They pant hot against his bare skin, and they say his name as if it is a prayer, but not the way in which they usually pray to him. They call him closer to them as if he is the most precious thing in the universe to them, outside of each other.</p>
      <p>It simultaneously wounds and heals Castiel.</p>
      <p>He builds a mountain of whipped cream and chocolate syrup and maraschino cherries on top of his cock and balls. Sam and Dean lick it off together. Dean cleans drizzled honey off of Sam's belly. Sam slurps caramel and butterscotch sauce off Dean's budding tits. They lave powdered sugar from Castiel's feathers, leaving them damp and sticky, and their mouths are soft and gentle.</p>
      <p>At one point during the lovemaking, Castiel cannot help but weep. It may be ungodly of him, but he is overcome, because they understand, finally. They understand everything. How he feels about them, why he's done what he's done. They know how he loves them. They return that love, just as they always have. And he has never known anything more beautiful.</p>
      <p>The Winchesters are taken aback, concerned and a little fearful. They have never seen him cry before.</p>
      <p>"Hey, I know these monsters are intimidating." Dean tries for levity, gesturing to his and Sam's groins. "But they're easier to take than you're thinking, I promise."</p>
      <p>Castiel laughs, and he means it. Dean wipes his tears away, fingers thick and clumsy, and then Castiel draws Sam close and kisses him.</p>
      <p>"Fuck your brother for me," Castiel whispers into Sam's ear.</p>
      <p>They've both grown extremely bloated, with all the treats Castiel has fed them in the last hour or so, but Sam obeys. Once he's inside Dean, Castiel enters Sam, and his wings curve over them both like a midnight-colored ceiling.</p>
      <p>"Don't worry about moving," Castiel murmurs to Sam before he begins to fuck him into Dean. "I'll do the work."</p>
      <p>He batters them together into a powerful mutual orgasm that has them howling and roaring, his name and each other's on their tongues. With the amount of foreplay, it doesn't take long.</p>
      <p>Castiel lies exhausted afterwards, sex more taxing than he would have expected. Or maybe it's love that's drained him. He has a Winchester on either side, in either arm and wing. Sam has already passed out but Dean remains awake, looking down at him from where he's propped up on a single arm. He's tired, but also still concerned.</p>
      <p>"Go to sleep," Castiel tells him softly. "You're so heavy these days, you get so little exercise...of course that wore you out. You're so well taken care of."</p>
      <p>"You okay now?" Dean asks. "Like, for real."</p>
      <p>Castiel smiles, and cups Dean's rounded face with one hand. "I'm perfect, Dean."</p>
      <p>Dean leans into Castiel's hand, eyes falling closed. His voice comes out so quiet Castiel likely wouldn't have heard it, if he were human.</p>
      <p>"You really ain't gonna hurt us," Dean mutters. "You...you really do care, huh?"</p>
      <p>It's what a different version of Dean may refer to as a "chick flick moment." He's quite full and sexed out though, not to mention pampered to within an inch of his life. Castiel imagines that excuses it, so he smiles up at him.</p>
      <p>"Of course I do. You're the most precious things I own, and I own literally everything." He lifts his head to kiss Dean. A lock of Sam's hair slithers off Castiel's ear where it was tangled around it. "So that's saying something."</p>
      <p>Dean seems satisfied by that. He lays down.</p>
      <p>Castiel waits until the brothers are both in the deepest part of their sleep cycle. He used them well, so it comes on quickly. Then he collars them.</p>
      <p>The pieces resemble jewelry more than true collars, the two of them identical, black leather with a silver buckle dyed an icy blue. An ivory tag hangs off the front, making it clear in whatever language a viewer may find most comfortable exactly what Sam and Dean are and who they belong to. The collars will grow with them. They won't work forever, and Castiel will have to consider tattoos of ownership eventually, but he will cross that particular magnificent bridge when he comes to it.</p>
      <p>Castiel is gone by the time the Winchesters wake, but he observes them. They certainly notice the collars. They don't mind, though. Or discover the fact that they can't be removed by any but Castiel himself.</p>
      <hr/>
      <p>Heaven was a grand place once, when the previous God ruled it. Rich, complex. A work of art. Deserving of the name "Kingdom." It was only the back channels used by lower-level angels to go about their business that were flat and sterile, lit by light that appeared fluorescent, everything white except for where it absolutely had to be gray.</p>
      <p>When the first God vanished, many eons ago, and left only angels to govern, that sterility crept out of its functional niches to infect all of Heaven except for the individual realms of souls. Hallways, atriums, roosting places, barracks, armories, libraries, offices, all streamlined and cold. Even the throne room was reduced to a simple chamber, with an uninspiring white chair atop a low dais.</p>
      <p>Castiel has corrected this.</p>
      <p>He has no idea how the throne room looked in his Father's presence, because of course Castiel never entered it when He still saw fit to grace His children with the luxury of actually performing His duties. Castiel likely would not have tried to recreate it even if he'd seen it in the past. Instead, he has made what feels right to him here, in this place where he spends so much of his time.</p>
      <p>He began with something that resembled a grand temple or church. Soaring ceilings and white walls, tapestries and stained-glass windows to depict moments from his ascendance and (relatively short, as of yet) reign. Perhaps his Father had ruled from a place like this. It certainly felt like His style.</p>
      <p>But Castiel brought in life. This is the spot from which the first seeds of Creation were cast. It seems blasphemous for it to be entirely stone and metal and cloth.</p>
      <p>Greenery spills riotous down the walls, trees arching up to burst through a roof that only remains intact due to the support of their branches. Flowering vines curl in loving frames around the windows. The floor is covered largely in a shallow, teeming pool, plants and fish glowing in the slanting sunbeams. Dragonflies and bees fill the light-stippled air like tiny drops of jeweled Grace, wings humming in the hollows of the massive room.</p>
      <p>Castiel's throne is the molded roots of the largest of the trees. Ferns shade him, pads of moss and mushrooms act as cushions. There's plenty of room for all pieces of him. And Sam and Dean.</p>
      <p>They're both mostly belly, but Sam in particular has developed an impressive ass. Dressed in comfortable clothes that barely fit them, their guts are on full display and their collars are completely visible on the folds of fat that have replaced their necks. Sam slumbers on the throne with Castiel, hair fallen in gleaming drifts over his mossy pillow and stomach within easy reach of Castiel's rubbing, scratching fingers. Dean has made himself comfortable at Castiel's feet, freckled gut resting in front of him as he leans against Castiel's leg and allows chocolate after chocolate to be slipped between his moist, plump lips.</p>
      <p>"Lord." A herald bows before Castiel, spreading their wings wide in deference. "The ruler of Hell has arrived."</p>
      <p>"Bring him to me," Castiel orders.</p>
      <p>A familiar face enters the throne room, stumbling a little when he's shoved by one of the seraphs who retrieved him. Crowley is a sneering, wizened thing, brow adorned with stubby horns, an old enough demon that the rot in his soul has gone dry and powdery. The light of Heaven definitely does him no favors as he finds his meandering way along the fern-lined path to the foot of Castiel's throne, where he squints up at him.</p>
      <p>"Castiel," Crowley comments, after an extended silence. "You're looking...not <em>well, </em>exactly. Rather like a raven fucked a Lovecraft novel. And <em>still </em>crammed into what's left of that trench coat - damn thing's more sleeve holes than fabric by now, isn't it?"</p>
      <p>He looks momentarily shocked by what's come out of his own mouth, but then recovers. He must have realized that there are no lies told in this room, no acts put on. So long as he remains in this portion of Castiel's realm, he will speak his mind.</p>
      <p>"Hello, Fergus." Castiel is not offended. Crowley is by the use of his name, but manages to move past it as it looks around the throne room.</p>
      <p>"Love what you've done with the place. Reminds me of Hell, in a way."</p>
      <p>"That's what I brought you here to discuss."</p>
      <p>"Interior decorating?" Crowley asks blithely. "Oh. No. Hell, I suppose...not sure why. I'm not king anymore, you know that. I abdicated."</p>
      <p>"You ran away," Castiel states.</p>
      <p>"A wise decision, considering the circumstances," Crowley counters.</p>
      <p>"I want to reinstate you."</p>
      <p>If there were any soft parts of Crowley's face left, he'd likely be smiling wryly. "Pardon the pun. But why in the hell would you want to do that, Castiel?"</p>
      <p>"Because as much as I wish it wasn't, Hell is necessary." Castiel bristles at the memory of how badly both Sam and Dean have been hurt there. He would love nothing more than to pull the place in on itself with his bare Grace...but he can't. "If it has to exist, I'd like it to be orderly. You were good at keeping it that way."</p>
      <p>The truth is that Crowley is easy to control, and Castiel is familiar with him. But appealing to his ego seems the more logical choice compared to honesty</p>
      <p>"Hm." Crowley's head tilts. He's mostly without fear, must have decided he doesn't care what happens to him or think that he has what Dean may call "an ace in the hole." "Let's take a look at what you're offering here, shall we? Becoming your puppet monarch, putting on a leash with the other end in - "</p>
      <p>Castiel shifts a little. Some of his wings move. Sam and Dean are suddenly visible to Crowley, and he stops talking.</p>
      <p>"What's that you've got there?" he asks carefully, and Castiel can tell by the icy flavor of his shock that he had no idea they were here, with him.</p>
      <p>Maybe he even thought they were still fighting Castiel. Maybe he thought they were allies. It brings Castiel unspeakable pleasure, to have crushed Crowley's hopes like this.</p>
      <p>"Precious things." Castiel smiles down at them.</p>
      <p>"Are those…?" Crowley's voice is an even drier rasp than usual.</p>
      <p>"Yes."</p>
      <p>"...the brothers Winchester?" Crowley continues, as if Castiel hadn't even spoken.</p>
      <p>"Yes," Castiel repeats, still feeding Dean, still rubbing Sam's overfull belly. "I couldn't very well leave them on Earth, and as you can see…" He dips his head to nuzzle Sam's hair. "They're very happy here with me."</p>
      <p>Crowley barks out a laugh. The shock he's still feeling has wounded him, and something like a reckless insanity is oozing out now.</p>
      <p>"Bloody hell, Eyes!" he exclaims. "I knew all those scrapping, snarling monster souls you popped like so many Quaaludes broke your tiny mind right in half, but do you think you need to keep your larder stocked? Or is it that they need to be massive for you to pump your eggs into, is that how you do it now? Is one of those things you've got coming off you an ovipositor?"</p>
      <p>Fondly, Castiel lifts a lock of Sam's hair. A caramel-colored highlight glows. "I care for them. I wanted them to be safe, and they are, here. I knew I could take better care of them than they could themselves. And I am."</p>
      <p>Crowley snorts.</p>
      <p>"Much as it pains me to say this," he begins deliberately, "those two were the purest souls, the best heroes and, granted, the biggest pains in all of our collective asses in at least two hundred years. And look at what you've done to them!"</p>
      <p>Crowley flings his hands dramatically at the two of them.</p>
      <p>"You've fed them into a pair of - of - useless, spoiled blobs!"</p>
      <p>Sam remains asleep but Dean twitches slightly against Castiel's leg. He had told them both, before this meeting, not to engage with Crowley. To try to ignore him. They are here in an official capacity, props for Crowley's benefit, although having them here has been so nice that Castiel is considering bringing them into the throne room more often. But Dean's mood has darkened. And Castiel has made an error in judgement, because he did not consider they would even listen, much less be hurt.</p>
      <p>But Crowley's error is much greater.</p>
      <p>"Do you have them on butter drips or something?" Crowley is still speaking, incredulous. "How much do they even - ?"</p>
      <p>Castiel's eyes narrow. All of them.</p>
      <p>Crowley freezes. No doubt he can feel the billion needles of divine power centered all over the infernal essence of what he is as a demon, just waiting for Castiel's will to propel them right through him. To tear him neatly and cleanly out of existence forever, maybe not even a horned imprint to reach what the reapers call the Empty. A process that would, of course, be agonizing.</p>
      <p>"Even before all this," Castiel begins pleasantly, "they were the most precious things to me. Worth so much more than I had ever known that anyone, especially humans, could be." He strokes Dean's hair. "They taught me what love was. Loss. Need for another being. It is directly thanks to them that I'm so much more than an angel now."</p>
      <p>Dean nudges at Castiel's hand, collar jingling. He wants more chocolate. Castiel's probably massively overfed him by now, his belly's looking strained and he'll have a terrible stomachache later, but it will be no effort at all for him to soothe it. He conjures chocolate syrup to drip endlessly off his fingers, and Dean suckles with no prompting.</p>
      <p>"Even back then, in the beginning," Castiel continues, "I would have burned down everything for them. As they would have for each other. Maybe for me. And our bond's only grown stronger since I brought them here and gave them everything they've ever wanted."</p>
      <p>If Crowley had lips, they'd likely be curling in disgust. Castiel looks at him</p>
      <p>"The only reason I haven't killed you for talking about them the way you just did is because it would take so long to break a new ruler of Hell to my will," he tells him. "That would carve away time I could spend with them."</p>
      <p>He feeds Dean. He pets Sam.</p>
      <p>"Do you understand?"</p>
      <p>Crowley stiffly nods.</p>
      <p>"Now. Let's negotiate, and make it quick." Castiel smiles as he eases the threat of instantaneous annihilation off Crowley. "Dinner is coming up."</p>
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